The Golden Floor
by elenwyn
Summary: As he was shaking those kind of thoughts from his head, the girl’s expression turned thoughtful, and in the next second he felt the gentle pressure of her petite hand on his, pulling him. “Dance with me.” Paire one-shot.


**A.N:** I wrote this for PaireChallenge's One-Shot Challenge: "Patience." It came into my head today and wouldn't go away, so I had to write it down. Hope you like!

**Warnings/Spoilers: **Mild inclusion of S3, nothing much. Mostly set in an AU time-line. Canon!Paire, which means incest, so don't read if you mind that sort of thing, thank you!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Heroes, and the title and lyrics included in this fic are taken from Snow Patrol's song, _The Golden Floor_. Listen to it if you can, it's gorgeous. 3

---

"_Tell me that you want to dance,  
I want to feel your pulse on mine.  
Just treat me like a stolen glance  
To yourself."_

---

Nathan's Inaugural ball was an ostentatiously grand occasion, befitting for the President of the United States, let alone a man who'd just been elected into a Senate seat. Arthur and Angela spared no expense in celebrating their son's achievement and, as was customary, Peter was forced to celebrate his brother's rise to power along with the rest of the family.

The mansion was decorated to suit the occasion; red, white and blue with warm lighting decked around the stairs and outside, and a live band playing in the hall. The Petrellis had pulled out all the stops.

"Kinda superficial, huh?"

Dressed in a flowing, dark green, silken dress, Claire was the splash of colour that broke through the monotony of Manhattan socialites and politicians in suits, a fact that Peter was grateful for. He let out a small, crooked smile, pulling at his bow-tie.

"Part and parcel of being a Petrelli, besides, it's not like Nathan doesn't deserve it this time."

"Yeah, 'cause letting his brother blow up obviously wasn't the best campaign strategy in the world."

"Claire," he admonished, half serious, as she let out a bubble of laughter, so contagious that he ended up grinning in spite of himself.

"For what it's worth," the young girl – more like a young woman now, Peter mused absentmindedly, considering all she'd been through - said, eyes turning soft as they rested on his face, "It's probably worth it to see you in a suit. You look good."

The man smiled again, unable to stop his lips from quirking upwards. Whenever Claire was around, no matter what the circumstances were, things seemed a little happier, a little brighter, like there was still good in the world.

He thanked God that he'd managed to stop her from becoming the cold, heartless killer from the future; he couldn't bear to see Claire, _his_ Claire, change like that.

"You're not looking that bad yourself," He answered back, surprising himself when a rush of delight ran through him as she blushed lightly at the compliment, looking down at the floor.

"Thanks," The blush remained on her face as she looked back up, and Peter thought she'd never looked more beautiful. Her unscarred face showed nothing of the hardships they'd both endured over the past few weeks, and he wondered how much of it was to do with her ability, or if it just showed how much of a Petrelli she really was.

And there it was again, another indication of her connection to his family, that his blood flowed through her veins as well. All the signs were there, Peter just had to learn to accept them, regardless of what his heart said in retaliation to that fact. The same blood meant family, which meant related, which meant whatever feelings he had for her were _wrong_, and he'd just have to live with that.

No matter how much he thought their connection went so much deeper than just that bond of saving each other, or a bond of family.

"Peter, you alright?"

Claire's crystalline voice broke his musing abruptly, and Peter found she was closer to him that she was before, a concerned look and an innocent one on her face that immediately made him feel disgusted with himself for what he'd been thinking.

"I'm fine," He reassured her, brushing his bangs back from his face, "It's just, you know, parties…"

She nodded in understanding; they really were the black sheep of the night. Even his parents had managed to stop bickering for one night long enough to enjoy themselves.

A comfortable silence settled between him, Peter trying to control his wayward thoughts, and Claire watching the dancing couples, absentmindedly twirling a piece of hair around one finger. She'd stopped straightening it; just let it flow loose in soft, golden curls, which Peter preferred. It reminded him of the night they met.

As he was shaking those kind of thoughts from his head, the girl's expression turned thoughtful, and in the next second he felt the gentle pressure of her petite hand on his, pulling him.

"Dance with me."

It wasn't a question, and Peter obeyed dutifully, letting her lead him towards the other dancers, glancing around furtively to see if Nathan or his parents were nearby. They weren't.

Risking it, he slipped an arm around Claire's waist, the silk of her dress cold in his warm hands, his other hand grasped hers, enclosing his much bigger hand in her smaller one.

She smiled shyly, placing her free hand loosely around his neck. "Didn't realise you were a good dancer," she mentioned as they began to travel around the floor.

He shrugged lightly in response, letting the feeling of contentment that arose from being this close to her wash over him, "There's never been an opportunity to showcase it."

"I should change that then," Her eyes had taken on a different look now, darker and sparkling with a hidden secret. Peter's heart leapt, struggling to keep his thoughts platonic as she moved even closer, the scent of her perfume enveloping him.

The tempo of the music changed; a slow song began playing. The atmosphere around them seemed to crackle, and Claire seemed suddenly apprehensive.

Acting on impulse, Peter pulled her closer to him, letting his hands rest on her bare back where the dress cut lower, whilst she tentatively laid her head on his chest, curling her fingers around the jacket of his tuxedo.

It was then, during that dance, that Peter knew instinctively that Claire had been struggling with the same things he had. She didn't have to confess to him, he could tell by the way she'd quietened in his arms, savouring their moment together, or by the way her breaths were coming out in shudders, as if suppressing a great and terrible emotion.

Gently, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, murmuring as he held her tighter, "It's ok, you know. One day, we'll have forever."

The words slipped out of his mouth without thinking and, as Claire let out a silent sob into his shirt, face buried in his chest, Peter lost himself in that thought. In a hundred years, no-one would be alive that remembered them as they were, uncle and niece, family, they'd just be Peter and Claire, two people, connected.

With Claire's healing abilities, she would live forever. With Peter's absorption of those abilities, he would too. They'd be able to spend eternity in each other's arms soon enough, they'd just have to wait for a while.

The song finished too quickly, and the pair had to remove themselves from their embrace, eyes only meeting for the briefest of moments. Claire turned to leave, but Peter grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to him.

"Say you'll wait," he asked, suddenly breathless.

She swallowed slowly, eyes wide as she stared up at him, "I…Peter…"

"Please." If he had to beg, he would, he just needed her to promise.

Something in his eyes, maybe the desperation or, indeed, love, swayed her decision, and he watched a stray tear from earlier leak down the side of her face, that sad little smile of hers resting there once more.

"I'll wait."

With a swish of her dress, she disappeared into the party, and a euphoric feeling began unfurling itself inside of him, quashed only by the knowledge that waiting would be the hard part.

But patience is a virtue, after all.

---

"_I'm not afraid of anything, even time."_


End file.
